


A Cure for the Uncommon Cold

by Fluffyllama (Llama)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama/pseuds/Fluffyllama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for ionlylurkhere in the Dr Who Minor Characters Ficathon.</p>
    </blockquote>





	A Cure for the Uncommon Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ionlylurkhere in the Dr Who Minor Characters Ficathon.

Walking through the corridors of the compound late at night, Diana sometimes wondered why she chose to bury herself out there. Half a mile under the dirt in the ass crack of nowhere, as her father never failed to remind her. He didn’t complain about the money she sent home to keep him in cheap beer and cheaper women, though, or at least not until he’d spent it all before the month was half over.

It was a good thing he didn’t know where to find her. Even if he did, nobody could get in here.

Then again, pretty often nobody could get out, either. Or at least not in quite the same condition as they arrived.

It was part of the job; they all learnt that pretty damn quickly. They were well paid for the danger: Henry van Statten was a paranoid bastard, but why wouldn’t be? If Diana ever made a habit of surrounding herself with employees who were much, much more intelligent than her she was pretty sure her measures would make his look like kids’ stuff.

But then, she was much, much more intelligent than her employer.

It was some consolation for the fact that he brought her here to ignore. That was van Statten’s style, she knew that now. Lure them out here with the promise of a salary that was out of this world and leave them to sink or swim.

It would be easier to swim in this pool if there weren’t quite so many sharks.

* * *

“Morning, baby.”

“Up yours, junk boy.”

Simmons was leering again, but he’d got nothing else to offer her and she hoped it stayed that way. There was just something about him that gave her the heebie-jeebies. Let him play with his bits of scrap. He was getting nowhere fast, and it didn’t take much working out to see he’d be hitting the road soon, while she was only waiting for the right project to bring herself to van Statten’s undivided attention.

It would happen one day. It had to, if she didn’t want to end up like Simmons.

Please god, let that perfect, attention-grabbing dream project not be one of his.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see him lick his lips.

Nah, it couldn’t happen.

She could feel him glowering at her back as she stalked through to the far office. Maybe if he was seething with resentment there was a chance he’d take his eyes off her ass for five seconds. She kicked the door shut behind her and fired up her compscreen, hand already reaching for the phone.

Beep-beep-beep—

Her finger stopped, hovering over the next button on the keypad as she took in the display on her screen.

Security request for Lab 40, twelve extra guards? Now that was more like it. “Codes!” she snapped, and a column of figures appeared on the side of the screen. 38, 39… 40. The Russian crash debris, that was what was in Lab 40. Surely there wasn’t anything useful in that? She clicked her tongue as she tapped the screen for more details of the project. Dr Lou Burgess, who the hell was that? Hired… August 2011. So, a relative newcomer. It figured a newbie would have got the Russian pile of junk, but either this bloke was an idiot or he’d really found something big.

Damn. She had a lot of catching up to do.

* * *

It took her half an hour to round up the requested guards, and only so long because she had to do a little creative explaining to the troop commander on floor 30. He was brighter than most, didn’t automatically assume someone well-dressed with an air of authority and the unmistakable aura of one of van Statten’s golden geniuses was entitled to take command of a bunch of his people.

Not quite bright enough not to argue with her, though. After she’d introduced herself to Dr Burgess, she had an appointment with her compscreen and Commander Turpin’s employment records.

Right now though, she had to make it up to Lab 40 before someone else beat her to it. There were far too many sharks in this pool, and some of them had been circling for a damn sight longer than she had.

The corridors around the 40th floor were deserted. With a deep breath, she gestured to the troops behind her to halt, and rapped sharply on the door.

“Dr Burgess?” It seemed unlikely that the pimply youth who opened the door was the project leader, so she didn’t waste her best smile on him. Of course, van Statten’s acquisitions were getting younger all the time, so it was a faint possibility. She showed a few more teeth, just in case.

“Lou’s busy. Did you want something?” The youth’s eyes passed over the armed guards without apparent interest or nerves.

 _Lou_? Diana tried not to grit her teeth at the informality of the boy’s tone.

“Dr Burgess requested extra security.” She nodded over her shoulder. “I’d like to discuss the deployment with him, if it’s not too much trouble.” She shifted her clipboard a little higher as the boy grinned. What, did she have something stuck in her teeth?

“You’d better come in.”

Diana waved her clipboard meaningfully at the troops and followed the annoying boy inside the lab. It wasn’t much like any of the labs she’d managed to push her way into before, that was for sure. For a facility dealing with alleged spacecraft debris it was surprisingly bright and airy, full of plants and with the soft strains of a violin playing somewhere down the other end of the room.

“Dr Burgess?” she repeated, when the youth came to a halt next to an occupied bench. The occupant had to remove a complicated set of apparatus from his head before turning to greet her, so she had ample opportunity to read the name badge fixed to the front of his white coat before noting the rounded swell of chest underneath.

She read it four or five times before it made any sense to her at all, however, and by then she found herself staring into the open, friendly face of Dr. Louise Burgess.

Oh, _fuck._

* * *

“Nice of you to invite me over.”

Lou seemed to find Diana’s apartments interesting, but then everyone did. Not that it had seen much action so far; none of the projects she’d investigated had turned out to be what she was looking for. It was easy enough during after-dinner conversation to weed out the losers and the mid-level successes. They weren’t what she was after.

She wasn’t even sure why she’d invited the doctor over. Habit maybe. Continue with the pattern, with the plan of action, even when you were on to a loser from the start. Wouldn’t it just be typical if fate meant Burgess really had the dream project and Diana would have to stand aside and watch the glory pass her by?

But Burgess – “Call me Lou.” – had accepted the invitation, so maybe she was looking for a friend. They could all do with one of those here, though of course, any sensible ambitious type would make sure she made the _right_ friends.

Maybe Burgess could still be the ticket to fame and indispensability she was looking for.

“I thought since we’re working together…”

Lou raised an eyebrow at that, and Diana smiled. “Well, we are in a way.” She tapped at the microwave remote keypad and wondered if the dressed crab was too much for a ‘friend’ dinner. She wasn’t sure she’d ever tried being just friends with anyone.

Maybe she should do up a couple more buttons? Over-exposed cleavage only won you one type of friend, though they tended to stick.

“How are the guys working out? You need any more?”

“Fine, fine.” Lou sipped at her glass of wine and settled into the comfiest chair in the room, making herself at home. She didn’t perch on the edge like Matthews did the time she’d brought that trembling little virgin here, but sank and sprawled, complete with little happy noises.

Diana couldn’t help a smile.

“So, that’s what you do, is it?” Lou’s voice was rich from the wine, deeper than usual, and her eyes were frank as they watched Diana fuss over the already set table. “You’re in Security?”

“More or less.” Rather less, really, of course, but it was at least true at the moment. Calling herself an opportunistic bitch wasn’t really going to endear her to this apparently unworldly scientist, after all. With relief she heard the microwave beep.

“Dinner’s ready,” she smiled, and escaped into her tiny kitchen.

* * *

If anything, Lou seemed even more eager than Diana was for them to spend time together.

Her efforts to discover more about the progress of the Russian debris project met with very little result, though, even as they increased from one or two to three or four evenings a week in each other’s company. Somehow Lou would always turn the conversation in some other direction, and after dinner, a glass or two of wine and being curled up by the fire in good company for a few hours, Diana couldn’t really find it in her heart to object.

Perhaps that was why, when one evening Lou stopped in mid-sentence, she didn’t say anything, just watched the smile that played across those lips. Perhaps it was why she didn’t move away when Lou leaned closer, dark-skinned fingers entwining with her pale ones (too, too pale under all this earth).

And perhaps that was why, when Lou’s hand cupped her face and her lips slid against her mouth, she kissed her back.

It couldn’t be anything else, could it?

* * *

“Never had you figured for a dyke, Goddard.”

Well, at least it made a change from Simmons’ usual greeting, but boy did news spread fast around here.

“I’ve heard these things happen when the available males are inadequate,” she said, and smiled sweetly at the scowl which crinkled his face.

“You’ll see,” he said, and for some reason was more interested in grinning to himself than watching her legs, even though she was wearing her shortest skirt suit today.

Something was going on. It was confirmed when from her office she could see constant unusual activity, which proved to be both troops and construction staff working on a new facility.

“Hush, hush,” Simmons twinkled at her smugly, and if she hadn’t been dying of curiosity she would have slapped him there and then. “Don’t want you filling in the opposition in your pillow-talk, do we?”

That was all it took for her way to be blocked by gun-toting thugs. Returning to her office, she kept a careful eye on the activity outside but saw little beyond some large rusty cylinder being pushed along on a trolley.

It couldn’t be anything important, not really.

But perhaps it was time to push Lou just a little harder. In the meantime, she let the blinds up fully and arranged her skirt high up on her thighs. Even in his new-found enthusiasm for his work, Simmons was bound to take a peek at some point.

There was no harm in having a contingency plan.

* * *

All she got from Lou was a frown, and “Not now.”

She pushed Diana aside, almost roughly, and sat on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were bloodshot, Diana noticed with a shock, and tiny wrinkles marred the skin underneath them.

“I can’t—” Lou’s fingers ran over the edge of the bedside table, fiddling with the drawer. “We’ll talk about it soon, I promise. I’m just at a very critical stage.”

She stood, fidgeting uncertainly, and gazed down at Diana for what seemed like minutes, as if she was going to say something. Finally she sighed and headed for the bathroom.

“I need a shower.”

As soon as the water began to run, Diana leaned over to the bedside table. Sliding the top drawer open carefully, she pulled out two spiral-bound reports and a sheaf of loose papers. From her handbag she took her camera and began to photograph the top few pages of each, as many as she dared, then as best she could, ordered them exactly as she’d found them. Returning them to the drawer, she was about to shut it when a slip of paper caught her eye.

A plane ticket to New York?

She shut the drawer hurriedly at the sound of footsteps.

“What are you thinking?”

Diana pulled the sheet up higher around her chest. It was an easy enough answer, but not one she was prepared to give. She smiled instead, leaning over to stroke Lou’s damp hair back from her forehead, watching her eyes flutter shut. It was easy to forget about secret projects and mysterious plane tickets when she was so close to Lou like this. Such long eyelashes, such dark rims to her eyes even without make-up. The skin of her long neck glistened in the dim light of the bedroom, and Diana couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to it, then another.

“I was thinking that a towel suits you much better than your white coat.”

Lou’s laugh was hoarse, and her throat vibrated under Diana’s lips. “Don’t say that around van Statten. He’ll probably make it my new uniform.”

“Not a bad idea.”

“For you, maybe not. _I_ don’t care to be ogled by my employer.” Lou’s eyes flicked open briefly. “Or certain… colleagues.”

Ah.

“I don’t encourage him,” Diana said, letting her fingers trail over Lou’s bare shoulder. Her mouth followed, trickles of water tangy against her tongue, or maybe it was just the taste of Lou’s skin. “Why would I?”

She could feel the shoulders shrug under her touch, the towel slip just far enough for her eyes to fasten on a dark brown nipple. So many nipples in the world, and Diana had seen more than her fair share over the past few years. None of them had fascinated her like this one.

“Who knows why any of us do what we do?”

It could almost have been the opening she was looking for, if Lou’s hand hadn’t slipped beneath the sheet. Sharp fingernails ran up the inside of Diana’s thigh, and she shivered, spreading her knees a little wider. Dark brown eyes widened, turned to black under Diana’s gaze, and when Lou pulled the sheet back and slid between her thighs, Diana could see herself in those deep black mirrors more clearly than ever.

She closed her eyes and held on tightly, letting Lou’s warmth fill her once again.

And if when Lou slept, thick black hair unbound in ropes and tangles across her pillows, Diana still lay awake, it had nothing to do with a bad conscience.

Nothing at all.

* * *

Before viewing the photographs, Diana locked her office door and pulled down the blinds, snapping them shut on Simmons’ curious look.

Five minutes after viewing the photographs, she folded up her compscreen with shaking hands and wished she still had that bottle of Scotch in the desk drawer.

Fifteen minutes after viewing the photographs, she was stood outside Henry van Statten’s office.

* * *

“The cure for the common cold?” Henry van Statten turned to his nearest advisor, his eyes gleaming.

“That’s what this report says, Mr van Statten.”

“And the other?”

The advisor laid the second down on the desk. “The other… the other reports that the Russian crash debris provided nothing useful for future research.”

Van Statten’s fists crashed down on the desk, sending everything tumbling over with the force of the blow.

“I want her memory wiped and the bitch dumped on the road some place – New York maybe since she’s so darn keen on the place!”

Diana was sure this was some sort of nightmare. _That_ was what he did with people? He couldn’t do that to Lou. Could he?

“Sir, I—” But her voice seemed tiny in this huge, echoing office.

“Yes, sir!” The guard clicked his heels and left at a trot.

“Nobody rips off Henry van Statten!”

“You can’t—”

But this time the man himself seemed to notice her.

“You, Godding, Goodie, whatever your name is—were you in on this?”

Diana gasped and drew herself upright, a vision of waking alone and penniless on a road somewhere flashing unpleasantly through her head. “No, sir, I just—”

“The second ticket was for someone, Goodly, and I’ll find out who, you can bet on that.”

Second ticket?

There was a second ticket?

Mr van Statten snorted and turned away, apparently satisfied by her shock.

“Move Gooding up to this floor, she may be useful.” He thrust the reports into an assistant’s arms and rubbed his hands in satisfaction. “Now, take me to the Metaltron!”

* * *

If possible, the dark corridors of the compound seemed more oppressive than ever.

It was odd really, Diana thought, because you would think up where the elite lived there would be more space, not less. More light, not less.

She could leave any time she wanted, of course. And she would. She’d go to New York, she’d search every street if she had to, knock on every door in the whole fucking city.

But first, Henry van Statten was going to pay.

One day.


End file.
